And What Can I Get You with That, Sir?
by Queen of Snupin
Summary: Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Harry head off for a night on the town 3 years after the war. Who should they run into but Draco Malfoy? Better than summary I promise. Please R&R slash in later chapters. I HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN THIS FIC! AP'S ARE EATING MY SOUL!
1. Chapter 1

I shouldn't have been there. I shouldn't have been on that corner in mid-London at 8 pm on a Saturday night, but Harry and my sister, along with Hermione, had dragged me to a stuffy little French restaurant for a cute romantic dinner. Personally I hadn't seen the point when there was perfectly good pre-prepared food at home, but I went along with it because no one really wants to anger three premenstrual women. Oh. I meant two. Really. Anyway, long story short, I shouldn't have been sitting in a corner booth staring at a completely unintelligible menu, terrified of ordering something disgusting like snails and not knowing it until I saw them staring at me surrounded by some odd mushroom sauce, while Harry and Hermione were engrossed in a discussion involving the newest spells they had learned in their auror training, and Ginny stood off to the right having a brief discussion with her boss at the book store in Diagon Alley, into whom she had literally run when we entered the restaurant in a tizzy.

Hermione had been sure that our reservation was for 7:45 as opposed to 8:00 and thus had gone bursting into the tiny establishment apologizing profusely for being late. Ginny had followed her apologizing, instead, for Hermione. In doing such she bumped into Madame Riosche and thus had begun the conversation about inventory and new releases.

I had just been contemplating ordering something called "Ratatouille" when my oh-so-graceful sister threw herself into the booth next to me and sighed into my ear.

"Honestly," she was saying. "I plan to go out and have an intelligent, relaxing dinner, and instead run into Cissy and then have to discuss, in detail, everything about the shop that could possibly cause any amount of stress." Out of the corner of her eye she spied our waiter coming toward us and exclaimed "Oh good, I could do with a dri…OH GOD!"

Having grown up with the now-woman I had become accustomed to her random outbursts so it took me a minute to look up and realize what had caused such a violent reaction. Standing in front of our group of slack jawed witches and wizards, was a tall skinny blonde metro-sexual man in his young 20's staring down at us defiantly with his crystal clear grey eyes. "Excuse me," he said and walked away gracefully, and get with obvious haste.

"Was that?" asked Hermione. We were all still staring off in the direction

our waiter had hurried off in, and didn't bother to look at one another.

"Malfoy," said Harry. It had been 3 years since the war and those who were either deatheaters or of deatheater descent and had escaped prison, disappeared expertly. Rumor was that Blaize Zambini and his family had returned to Italy and begun a new life. So granted, this played a part in our complete and utter shock that here, in central London, we ran in to one of the most famous and proud supporters of Voldemort. Also in a staring role was the fact that Malfoy was a waiter. Like, he _served_ people.

As we were all contemplating the total irony that was unfolding infront of us, a shorter, darker man, dressed in a white shirt with black pants and tie (as Malfoy had been previously) came up to our table and addressed the table stating that his name was Andrew and he would be our server for the evening. Hermione composed herself quickest out of all of us (no surprise there) and inquired after our amazing disappearing waiter.

"Draco was feeling unwell and asked if I could cover his tables while he went out back to catch some fresh air," the one called Andrew replied in a tone signifying that he did not wish to discus Malfoy's health anymore and instead was tired on his feet (having been at work since 10 o'clock that morning) and wanted nothing more than to take our orders and find a crate to sit on in the kitchen. Sometimes I'm amazed at how much a certain inflection seems to convey to me. I'm probably just bored and making up stories, for the people around me, in my head, but still.

It took the rest of us a few seconds to remember that we were in a restaurant and had been in the process of obtaining sustenance. After we had finally ordered and sent poor Andrew on his quest to the kitchen, we returned to the subject at hand.

"Draco Malfoy is a waiter."

"Screw that," said Harry as he took a swig of his Heineken. "What intrigues me most is that he's still in London, and some how not in Azkaban."

"Harry," replied Hermione in her all-knowing voice, "there are quite a few who've slipped through the ministry's fingers…" Soon the two were engaged in a heated argument about the effectiveness of the newest laws passed that concerned those who had taken the dark mark. Ginny decided this'd be a good time to catch up on her reading (because I was obviously not _nearly_ as interesting) and I was left to come to terms with the sight of Malfoy's silver eyes looking straight into mine as if daring me to make a comment.

I hadn't seen the boy…no, man, since the night after the battle, as he and his family sat huddled in the Great Hall, hoping no one would notice them and clinging to each other desperately. I wasn't able to concentrate on them (even if I had wanted to) since George sat to my right. My big brother looked so lost, staring off into the distance. I'm not going to lie, we were worried about him those first few months, afraid he'd try and join Fred, if you know what I mean. However, days went by and slowly he began to gain a little more life.

He still isn't the same, but I guess if you think about it, none of us are. Hermione's quieter, not as confrontational. I get the feeling she's still afraid of losing one of us after just having had a row. Ginny and Harry, once having met in broom closets and under staircases, are now completely inseparable, and to tell you the truth, disgusting. I can live with Harry dating my little sister because, come on, who else is worthy other than the boy who saved the world? But when I have to see them snogging almost every time I turn around, well, it gets old.

This is not the point of my story however. It had been years since I had laid eyes on Draco Malfoy, and I realized that the old schoolboy rivalry that had once burned in my chest every time I saw the prat was gone. It was replaced by something, pity? He'd kill me if he thought I, a Weasley, a poor bottom-feeder, pitied him. But I did. He wouldn't have been working in a dingy pseudo-french restaurant on a street corner in London if he didn't need to, and the fact that he needed to had to screw with his entire universe.

What? I can be deep.

The food came. We ate. We talked. Often at the same time. By the time the little white candle in the middle of our tablecloth had burned down to a stub and then all the way out, our little booth had discussed everything from politics to religion to the ethics of mass toy production in third-world countries. How we had gotten onto the last subject was still unclear as we left a tip and exited the restaurant around 9:30.

We were making our way down the street in the eastward direction, Ginny hanging onto Harry's arm, the two of them cooing some sort of obscenities to each other, and Hermione and I walking side by side, holding hands. She was looking at the stars (barely visible above the hazy grey cloud that was London air) and thus I had to steer her away from at least 3 lampposts, which was rather impressive considering we had only made it a few feet. We passed the alley behind the restaurant we had just devoured strangely named foods in and I noticed a glint of gold hair in the light from one of the street lamps Hermione had almost had an altercation with.

I stopped to catch a better look and was run into from both the back and the side.

"Oi!" exclaimed Harry. "What the hell'd you stop for mate? Might give your friends a bit notice before simply ceasing progression."

"If you hadn't been drowning in my baby sister's baby-blues, you would'a seen me stop." I replied with a laugh.

"Ron," Hermione pulled on my hand. "We'll be late for the cinema!" The cinema was something completely new to Ginny and myself only a few weeks before the date in question, and thus Ginny became overly excited and yelled at me, like a horse, to "keep going."

"You guys go on ahead," I said. "I'll be there in a second, just think I left my wallet behind." The other three nodded and kept going.

Not truly knowing what I was doing, or more specifically, why I was doing it, I turned and headed back to the entrance of the alleyway and slowly approached the hunched over figure of Draco Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters referred to in this story (except for Andrew, but he's unimportant). I simply play with them for my own amusement. It has been suggested that I need a fanfiction intervention. I dared them to TRY. Ahem. You need not know nay of this; simply that I do not own these characters and therefore you are NOT allowed to sue me.

Now please enjoy Chapter 2.

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The alley was dark despite the stolen light from street lamps and the tiny industrial-looking sconce that hung above the back door to the restaurant. The brick walls were cracked and a rat scurried over my foot in a hurry to get to its home located right next to the bright green dumpster with peeling letters. Trash was strewn about and the dumpster itself was overflowing.

Malfoy sat on the two decaying concrete steps directly in front of the door. The light above him shown down harshly, causing him to pale even more. His features were washed out and there were few shadows to help one discern where cheek met nose met face. His white shirt was rumpled and half un-tucked, his tie askew, and in the limp hand that was braced on one of his up bent knees, was a slowly smoking cigarette. Over all it was a rather depressing picture; not one that any passerby would take any notice of.

I stood at the entrance to the alley trying very hard to talk myself out of doing what I was about to do. However, this was in vain since Weasleys rarely listen to reason, and no matter how much the war had changed me, I was still a Weasley. Maybe Mum had rubbed off on me more than I had realized or wanted to believe, because as I stood there taking in the image before me, I couldn't help but feel for him. Which was insane, I know.

I shouldn't have felt sorry for the obviously disheveled man who had once gotten nothing but joy from picking at and prodding every one of my multitude of flaws. Here he was, no longer a spectacle of envy but a poor, empty shell. The irony should not have been lost on me. I should have just laughed to myself and moved to join my friends at the cinema. But, as you're probably beginning to notice, not much of this story goes as it "should".

Instead of doing any of these things, I took a deep breath, and still questioning why, took a few steps into the alley. As I neared him, Malfoy didn't even look up. His head was bent and still as ashes fell from his cigarette onto his pleated black pants and the grime covered ground around him. The stench of day old seafood emanated from the dumpster, which upon further inspection read "Leroy's Waste Removal Services". Something about the smell that almost rivaled the boys locker room at Hogwarts after a particularly intense Quidditch game, told me that Leroy had been slacking off on his duties.

The tiny blonde figure only deigned to look up when I oh-so-suavely managed to hurtle head first over a stray cat that had darted out from under Leroy's receptacle.

"Bloody hell," I screamed as I caught myself.

"What are you doing?" asked Draco as he took a drag of his cigarette, this time his eyes focused on my panting, blushing, and rather wrinkled self. I really need to ask Hermione to come up with some spell so my ears don't get so very red.

"Tripping over some bloody cat," I replied looking for the animal. I wanted so very much to kick it, if only gently.

"No, Weasley," Draco drawled. "I realized that when I heard a feline screech and then your beautiful profanity. What are you doing here?"

That was a very good question; a question I had been trying to answer over and over again. "I..." I began, then stopped. I closed the last few feet between myself and a place directly in front of Malfoy's steps. He watched me with a certain bored curiosity, and waited for me to continue. Apparently his expectancy to be answered had not changed. I leaned up against the wall and tried very hard _not _ to think about the stains Hermione'd be complaining about having to get out when we got home.

"I guess I came to find out if you were ok." Uhm...forgive me for asking, but did I _really_ just say that? Malfoy seemed to be thinking the same thing. He snorted as he put out his cigarette on the cement next to him, and then flicked it carelessly toward the dumpster, not caring as it hit the metal side and slid down to join the other trash on the cobble stones.

He took a few seconds before responding. "How could that possibly interest you Weasley?"

I have to admit, at the time I was rather taken aback. "Uhm, I dunno really."

"I disappear for 3 years and then turn up in this shit hole" he motioned behind him, "and you have to ask if I'm ok? Are you _still_ that dense?"

My ears were turning red again, but not because I was embarrassed…at least not _entirely_. "Look, what ever. Apparently you're fine since you still enjoy berating me any chance you get."

"Only because you give me the chance, and really" he stood up so that we were eye to eye, him standing on about 6 inches of concrete. "can you look me in the eyes and say you and your little _friends_" he drew the word out as long as he could "didn't proceed to tear me apart as soon as I turned my back?"

I said nothing.

He nodded. "At least I have the decency to insult you to your face."

"You're saying you're a better person than me? What a laugh!" I sneered. That's right, _I_ sneered. "You? You who insults every one at every chance? Who puts so much stock into breeding and wealth? Well, how does it feel Draco? How does it feel to have the roles switched?" His eyes were glowing.

"Don't start this with me Weasley. Not now."

"Fine! I'll leave, I'm glad you're still an angry little prat Malfoy, I had my doubts you may have become a decent person." I began to walk away and he reached out and grabbed my arm pulling me back to face him.

"Don't turn your back on me Weas…"

The door behind him was opened with such force that it sent Malfoy flying. Before I knew what I was doing, I had caught him with my body, with my arms wrapped around him.

A hand holding a large leaking Hefty bag appeared and flung its charge into the dumpster. The door closed.

The door closed, and I was standing in the diverted lamp light, in an alley in central London, with Draco Malfoy trying to catch his breath in my arms. It seemed he was quite unaware of the situation since his main concern was breathing. I on the other hand was all too aware of the tiny chest rising and falling against mine, the soft hair tickling the bottom of my chin and the sudden warmth on a cold night.

Eventually he started to breathe normally, and slowly turned his head so that he could look into my eyes. We stood like that for a second too long before he pushed away and started screaming.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING WEASLEY?"

Caught off guard I began yelling back. "I _WAS_ TRYING TO KEEP YOU FROM DOING A FACEPLANT INTO THIS DISGUSTING ALLEY, BUT SILLY ME! REMIND ME NEXT TIME THAT YOU'D RATHER HAVE A NOSE JOB THAN HAVE TO BE _HELPED_ BY A WEASLEY!" I was sure I was angry, other wise why was my heart beating so fast?

"GET OUT!" he shrieked, pointing down to the road.

"GLADLY!" I returned and started walking quickly and heavily out of the alley. I reached the entrance and just as I began to turn the corner, I thought I heard my name. I turned to take one look back, and Draco was standing with his arm and head braced against the wall I had been leaning against previously. His face turned and our eyes met, and I turned the corner and ran.

When I finally reached the cinema, Hermione was sitting on one of the benches out side of the theater. She saw me and ran toward me, throwing her arms around me. I placed a kiss on her forehead.

"The movie's already started," she said pulling away and looking at me. "Did you find your wallet?"

"Huh? Oh…yeah. It was between the seat cushions."

"Well that's good," she smiled and took my hand and led me through the double glass doors.

As I sat watching the movie, with Hermione's head resting on my shoulder, I remember thinking not about the couple boating on screen, but instead about feelings. The feeling of her head on my shoulder, hand on my hand. It should have been different, I was thinking. It should have had more of a spark. But instead all I felt was…comfort.

We didn't fit as well as he did. His head under my chin, arms around me... My eyes shot open. I shouldn't have been thinking that…

But I was.

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End of Chapter two!

Please R&R, I promise it'll all make sense soonish…

Hugs and Kisses!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Mine: Plot? Yes. Characters? No. Platypus? I wish.

Thanks for all the reviews guys! Keep 'em comin. If you review, I continue to write…if not, then I inevitably find something "more productive" to do and wait 2 years before attempting to finish my stories. Self analysis, it's a beautiful thing…which brings us to…

Chapter Three

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I think I went a total of two weeks in which every spare thought annoyingly headed back to that night. I could be in the middle of about 7 stone of paper work, and the second my mind wandered from the arduous task of printing a final "y" on my name (were I lucky enough to actually spell my name correctly) I'd be thinking about Dra…Malfoy in that blasted alley. I'd then yell at myself silently and demand I stop obsessing (which it took me a very long time to admit was what I was doing) and this, because my life hated me, would simply lead to more unwarranted thoughts.

Thoughts like how little things Hermione did that had never annoyed me before (or at least not to this extent) were getting to the point that I twitched every once in a while. For instance, waking up to her reading light at 3 o'clock in the morning, never used to bother me so much. I'd just turn over and go back to sleep. Now, however, I'd wake up, be slightly annoyed, and then proceed to over analyze the situation to the point that I was too worked up to go back to sleep and thus had to get up and make breakfast. This is a hard habit to keep up, and I became irritable.

Extra irritability led to more tiny annoyances, which led to more analysis, etc. etc. So don't get me wrong. None of this was _ever_ Hermione's fault. I just thought it convenient to blame her.

If I was blaming her then that meant I was mad at her, and if I was mad at her, that'd explain why I wasn't as 100 sure that I had made the right choice three years ago, when I returned to camp and let Hermione snog my brains out.

So you see, that this is why Weasleys usually act on impulse. We suck at analyzing situations.

The end of these two weeks of obsession and insanity came when the fourth owl that evening slammed into Hermione's and my shared bedroom. I was in the process of writing a letter to my mother, explaining quite gently that no, we couldn't make dinner that Sunday because Hermione and I were, in fact, previously engaged by _her _family. This is a very touchy subject, family, so you'll understand why I jumped 3 feet and cursed as a ministry owl splattered across the window.

I walked to the window and opened it, allowing the poor creature to stumble in, present its leg, and promptly fall over. Deciding it were best to just let the animal have its moment of unconsciousness, I untied the message from its leg and read it.

"Ron-

I'm _so_ sorry, but it seems I won't be able to make it home for dinner. The Minister has us working overtime and Harry somehow persuaded me to put off a weeks worth of paper work…something about the greater good. I should be home by midnight, hopefully. I'm sorry!

-Hermione

PS. Feed Crookshanks will you?"

I threw the crumpled up piece of paper at the wall with a vengeance. I don't know why I was so mad. It was a valid excuse. I wasn't very rational at that time.

Which possibly explains was I did next. After contemplating sending her back a note that said "I hate your cat. Every time you leave the room I try to _get it_" and deciding that was a bad idea, I stomped out of our bedroom into the main room (it was a tiny flat) and threw a handful of cat food into the bowl. Crookshanks looked at me with its (his) usual wrinkled expression of distaste and I, in a splendid show of maturity, stuck my tongue out at him. I grabbed my cloak, shut the door, and headed down the hall.

I think it's important to note at this moment in the story, that I had _no_ idea where I was going or what I was going to do when I got there. This is probably a good thing or I would have turned right around, gone back into the apartment and tied myself to a chair waiting for the nice men in white coats to take me away.

It was about 9:30 when I found myself in the middle of London, staring at a very familiar dingy French restaurant, and kicking myself. After a few minutes of mental berating, my stomach all but roared and I realized that, I was here. They served food, and I was fucking starving. I had skipped lunch in an attempt to finish all my work so that Hermione and I could have a nice relaxing night at home, (hah), and thus I was ravenous, as I'm sure you can imagine. You've seen me eat.

I pushed open the heavy wooden door and it squeaked. The maitre'd looked at me with a mixture of surprise and what could be faintly construed as disgust. Surprise, I assume, because I was the only soul in the restaurant not dressed in regulation uniform, and disgust, because I didn't have enough taste to go somewhere else. He walked up to me slowly, as one would approach a senile man sitting on a windowsill prepared to jump, and asked tentatively "Can I help you sir?" I sincerely doubted it. I didn't think he was the kind of professional I was in need of that moment as I looked around and realized my insanity a new.

"I do hope so," I however replied. "Would you be so kind as to show me to a table? A corner booth perhaps?" There was only one corner booth in the establishment, the one we had been sitting in two weeks ago. This time I knew exactly what I was doing, which was even more terrifying due to the fact that now, I found myself completely disinclined to stop myself as I was led to the tacky, green, pleather monstrosity of a seating arrangement and handed a drink and dinner menu. "Thank you," I smiled at the man. Dear lord was I going to be needing that drink menu. I wondered if it were considered crass to say, "I'll take the lot" in reference to the list of alcoholic beverages.

I didn't have much time to ponder this as I looked up and saw Malfoy heading for me in his black trousers and tie. I took a deep breath. "Here goes…whatever" I thought.

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End of Chapter Three…oooooo cliffhangers. How I love them so. They give one ample opportunity to drag things out as long as possible…I mean…add dramatic tension to the intricacies of the developing plot. Mhmm. That's definitely what I mean..

Please review, I'm insane.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:

Hello my favorite fan-fiction readers! I promise I am working on yet another chapter! I swear. I've just been rather busy…and sick…and I have lines to memorize for a play…I should really get to that…ANYWAYS…I'm working on it. Draco and Ron are being extremely unreasonable and hard to work with (as always). You'd think that any sort of scenario where in they both end up eventually getting a good shag, they'd be a fan of. However, apparently they enjoy being difficult, more than they anticipate the carnal desires. (Or they just know, no matter how difficult they are, I'll eventually write it anyway because I'm a sick puppy.)

Long story short, there is a chapter coming. I know exactly what's going to happen. In fact, I know what's going to happen in the next three chapters. They just need to come out of my fingers now.

LOVE- Me.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm BACK! I told you I would be. You doubted me, I know you did. But it's ok, I'm not going to smite you...this time...  
Here we continue the saga, and it's not so much of a cliff hanger...well...not _so_ much of a cliffhanger.

Disclaimer: I still don't own these people. I enjoy using them for my own sick, twisted, joy. ALSO! This chapter is rather G rated in nature (except for language, but I'm sure that you've all heard/read it before), HOWEVER, later chapters will be R rated. If you don't like it...you can skip that chapter. Just thought you should be warned.

NOW ON WITH THE SHOW!

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"You have to be_kidding_ me ."

"That's not what I'm used to hearing from a waiter." I smiled playfully.

"_Sorry_," he glared at me. "Hello _sir_. What can I get for…oh bollocks. What do you want Weasley?"

I suppose it shouldn't have, but the question caught me off guard. It's their job, right, to ask you what you want? They mean food, but all I could think about that second was the fact that I didn't know. I didn't know what I wanted, I didn't know why I was sitting there staring into his steel grey eyes. Ok. I did know, but I wasn't about to admit it.

"Weasley?"

His all but spitting of my name brought me back from self-reverie, something that was becoming all too common for my liking. "Well what do you recommend?"

"Wh…what?" HA. Now it was his turn to be surprised.

"What do you recommend?" I repeated.

"Eating somewhere else." He narrowed his eyes at me.

"Well, seeing as I'm already here, I'm sure there's something here even _you'd_ deem edible."

He wasn't used to me fighting back. It had been a few years since we last bantered, and I'd picked up better verbal reflexes over the years.

"Well," he began begrudgingly after he'd visibly attempted to come up with something else witty, "The fillet mignion isn't terrible, if you order it right."

"…and how would that be?" I replied.

"what be?"

"Well, Malfoy, you certainly have become dense." His eyes flashed dangerously and I continued, "how would _you_ have the steak prepared?"

"Why are you asking me all of this?" He sounded tired, so I decided to stop playing with his mind.

"Because you work here and I'm terrified of getting food poisoning. I figure what ever you'd order probably wont kill me."  
"You under estimate my hatred for you right now."

"Probably." I smiled. I seemed to be doing that oftener than usual. "However, I'm hungry, and my fatality is becoming less and less of an issue. How would you order the steak, Malfoy?"

"I already told you," he smiled. "I'd order it somewhere else."

I put my head in my hands. This was pointless. I hadn't even known what I was attempting, and I'd failed. "You are _so_ not getting a tip."

"Medium rare," I heard after a pause.

"What?" I parted my fingers so I could see him.

"I'd order it medium rare." He couldn't look at me when he said this, and at the time I couldn't figure out why. My thoughts were however, yet again, interrupted, this time however by a rather loud protest from my stomach. I could see the edge of his smirk while he continued to look elsewhere. Then a sick twisted idea popped into my head.

"Alright," I said, grinning. "I'll take two steaks, medium rare, with a bottle of your best Chardonnay."

"Two?"

"Yes, Malfoy, two." I answered. He looked at me as if I had three heads and then shrugged and hurried off to the kitchen. Hoping to quickly get away from me, I suppose. I smiled wider. My plan (although last minute) was coming along rather nicely.

It was a couple of minutes before he returned, bottle of wine and corkscrew in hand. He put the bottle down wordlessly on my table and popped the cork. He began to walk away again.

"Have you had your break yet?" I asked his receding figure. He stopped and turned around slowly.

"What the hell, Weasley."

"I just wanted to know."

"No." He replied and began walking away again.

After a good twenty minutes, he brought out my order of two steaks and again, wordlessly, placed them in front of me. I pushed one of them to the place setting across from me that the maitre'd hadn't bothered to remove. He stood there looking at my quizzically and then…  
"Well? Are you hungry?" I asked. Now you have to really appreciate this picture. Draco Malfoy, former king of Slytherin, was standing in front of my table in a waiter's uniform, gaping like a fish.

"Excuse me?" he managed to choke out.

"God Malfoy." I conjured up another wine glass, hoping that the muggle staff weren't watching. "Are you, or are you not hungry?"

"Well of course I'm hungry!" he spat. He seemed to have picked up that particular form of expressing outrage. "You try working two consecutive 9 hour shifts at a crap joint like this! Of course I'm bloody fucking hungry!"

"Then sit down," I motioned to the sear across from me, complete with steak and wine.

"What are you playing at Weasley?" He asked, attempting to sound angry, or disgusted, it wasn't clear which, but instead sounding tired and confused. He wasn't nearly as good at being a stony arse anymore. I don't know if I found that reassuring, or frightening.

"You're hungry, I have more food than I could possibly finish, and you haven't taken your break yet. Are you going to sit down or not?"

"No" he said.

"Fine," I took my eyes off of him and poured myself a glass of wine. I realized he was still standing there when I heard his ask, as if betrayed, "You had this planned from the beginning, didn't you?"

I thought for a moment. "Not the beginning," I answered. "But somewhere along the way." We locked gazes, challenging each other with our eyes. Finally I broke the looks and looked out the window. It was raining. "Are you going to sit down or not?" I reapeated.

"They don't let us eat out front," he replied. "Not when the store's open."

Now please understand that I was, at this point, anything but rational, which explains my further actions. I asked him to get the manager.

"Don't make this harder for me Weasley," he growled.

"Just get the bloody man out here will you?"

Draco returned with a portly, obviously quintessentially French man, in tow.

"Iz zere a problem Monsieur?" the beady eyed man asked me coolly. It was obvious that even if there were a problem, which there wasn't…not really…that he really didn't care.

"Is it true that you do not allow your employees to dine in the main room during store hours?" I asked him, full well knowing the answer.

"Oui," he responded curtly.

"Well then, sir," I continued, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my wallet. "I will pay you more than you make in a full day if you'll close up half an hour early." I brandished two hundred pound bills. He eyed them greedily.

"Well," he said grabbing the paper slips out of my hand. "But of course Monsieur." He scuttled to the door, flipped the "Open" sign to "Closed", smiled at me, and returned to the depths that was presumably his office.

"There," I said turning to Malfoy. "Now will you, for the last time, sit down?" His grey eyes regarded me with the same look a rabbit might give a fox right before the fox snaps its neck.

"N…Now," he composed himself. "Now, Mr. Weasley, I have to close up, because you, in your moment of splendor, just made more work for me. Thank you _ever_ so much." he sneered.

I could see that, no matter what I did, there was no way I was going to get Malfoy to sit down and eat, no matter how hungry he was. I was, however, not giving up, although it may have seemed like it at the time. "Fine, Malfoy," I glared at him. "Then will you please bring me two boxes so I can take this expensive and yet mediocre meal home?"

"If it means you're leaving, then gladly," he replied, and once again disappeared through the double doors to the kitchen. He returned with the styrofoam boxes and I packed up the food in silence. There was a nod exchanged between us, the most minimal of courtesies, and I left the restaurant with bottle and bag in hand.

An hour later, Draco also left the restaurant to find me standing under an umbrella, in the rain. "What the bleeding hell, Weasley?" I handed him the carryout bag that I was still clutching and moved so as he was under the umbrella as well. It was all but pouring.

"You wouldn't eat with me in the restaurant, but now you have no excuse, so let's go," I said and began to move forward. He hesitated and I turned around. "Are you coming Malfoy?"

"Wh…" he was looking at his feet. "Where are we going?"

"The park," I replied.

"The park?!" he looked at me with complete disbelief. That was more like the Malfoy I knew, confrontational, not avoiding eye contact and staring at his muddy shoes.

"The park," I repeated smiling. I put out my hand so as to lead him back under the umbrella, but he simply stood there.

"But it's pouring!" he said, dripping.

"I realize that Malfoy. Would you just give up being stubborn for once and get under the umbrella?" He eyed me suspiciously. Slowly, and completely soaked, he joined me. "Finally. So you're coming with me?" I asked.

"Let me put it this way," he said looking me in the eyes and shrugging. "What choice do I have?" I laughed and nodded, and we began walking in the direction of the park.

"You're completely insane," he said.

"Probably," I replied. "But you're n…" I stopped. (Not walking, miraculously my feet continued to move, but I couldn't form words.) For the first time that evening I was able to actually look at the man standing next to me without focusing on getting him to see things my way. It was staggering. He was disheveled, soaked through, and walked with a bit of a slouch (simply from exhaustion), and yet…and yet the street lights reflected off of his wet white-blonde hair and his white button down shirt clung to his chest, almost see through in places. I focused on breathing, and told myself that I'd process these thoughts and/or…feelings?...later.

Draco caught me looking and gave me a quizzical look. "What?" he asked.

I scrambled mentally to compose myself. "I was going to say," I smiled, hoping that he hadn't noticed too much of my watching him. "I was going to say that you're not exactly the pinnacle of mental health yourself."

"This is true," he averted his eyes and tried to turn so I couldn't see his slight smile. "But I'm not the one leading a dead-tired wizard, whom I haven't seen in years and hated when I had, into the pouring rain, heading for a park, with wine and crappy French food."

"Touché."

We were quiet after that as we continued to move through the sheets of rain.


End file.
